


someone to save you

by soldierly



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Coda, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldierly/pseuds/soldierly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to the deleted scene with Charles and Alex down in the bunker. Charles catches up to Alex to apologize, and finds out exactly what it was Alex lost when Darwin died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	someone to save you

"Alex – Bloody hell, Alex!" Charles catches Alex's elbow just as he's ducking under the rail on the staircase, dashing for the upper floors. Everything down here is cold, steel, echoing grey. It sets Charles's nerves on edge, all the cleaving emptiness, though he's sure it's a place Erik would find quite humming with life.

Charles gives himself a moment to check that Hank has taken over his fire-extinguishing duties, and when he reintegrates himself into the present, Alex is breathing hard through his nose, his chest heaving. His arm is rigid in Charles's grip, but he isn't pulling away. Eyes fixed on the floor, he mutters, "Lemme go."

His mind is a whirlwind, his emotions eating away at Charles, as close as they are. Anger is there, on the surface. It's not as potent as Erik's, but thick and fierce and worrying nonetheless. Charles probes a little deeper, careful not to let himself get caught up, and he is and isn't surprised to find fear there, fear that Charles and the rest of the team will hate him. Guilt is riding high, cutting into Charles's nerves when he touches too close to it.

 _howcouldidothattohimbutitwasn'tmyfaultitwasn'tmyfault_

"Alex," he says, gentler now. He rubs absently at his temple with his free hand, separating himself. "You must know I didn't -- "

"What, think?" Alex snaps, and Charles's lips thin. He's disappointed in himself; he said something he never should have, let his own anger rule him.

"Yes," he says cautiously. He keeps his hand in the bend of Alex's elbow, and though Alex isn't relaxing, he's not pulling away, and that's a start. "Yes, Alex, I didn't think. It was wrong of me to shout at you, and I should have been more considerate." He pauses. "Armando -- "

Alex's shoulders shudder at the name, and he wrenches himself away, hunching his body over, his back firmly to Charles. Charles ducks his head, his hands falling to his pockets out of nervous habit. "Armando trusted you," Charles murmurs. "And he was right to. Raven told me you had perfect control when you fired at Shaw. The fact that _he_ could control your energy wasn't your fault."

"But I could still kill someone," Alex mutters, and his voice is a little wet, a little broken.

Charles steps up behind him, rests his hand on Alex's shoulder. "You could, now. But you _will_ learn to control this, Alex. Your gift isn't something you should be ashamed of."

 _Alex shakes his head, a small, aborted thing. "He _asked_ me to." _

"I know." Charles squeezes his shoulder, dips a little into Alex's mind, set on being sure he's calming down. Instead, he's assaulted with images of Darwin and Alex together: playing poker with Angel's bobby pins as chips; wandering the halls of the CIA base, Darwin looking at Alex like he's something brand new; endless games of pinball, because Alex would keep challenging Darwin just to see the way he smiled when he didn't know he was.

They go from there, spiral down into the slide of skin on skin, Alex's hand slipping up along the back of Darwin's thigh, his mouth open on the sharp jut of his hipbone, Darwin's fingers leaving bruises on the back of Alex's neck and on his wrists.

Charles pulls back, gasping, his vision fuzzy, and Alex is looking at him in a way that's just this side of betrayed. "You -- "

"I'm sorry," Charles whispers. "Oh, Alex, I'm sorry." He's not talking about the telepathy, and Alex is, but he's sorry anyway, and all he can imagine now is Erik, is being left with aching memories of chess and nights under Charles's silk sheets, the ones Erik eyes like he's affronted at their existence.

Alex's jaw flexes when he grinds his teeth, but when Charles catches his eye he nods, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "You think," he starts. "You think I was good for him?"

It's an odd question, Charles thinks, but he half-smiles, nods, a little shaky now, and says, "He certainly thought you were."

Alex watches him for a long moment, then swings up onto the staircase, his boots leaving hollow metallic clicks in their wake. Charles barely reaches for him again, just to be sure, and finds him more centered than he's felt since arriving at Westchester.

Charles rubs a hand over his mouth, queasy at the thought of Erik as a ghost, roaming Charles's mind with a taken queen in his hand.

 _Erik always does go for the queen first_ , he says to himself, and goes to seek him out. When Erik opens the door to his room, Charles has a bottle of brandy in one hand and their chess set in the other. The familiarity makes him drown in possibilities again. But surely not, he thinks, watching Erik from across the board until Erik catches him and gives him a slow smile, his eyes pooling with familiar heat.

Surely Charles won't lose him.


End file.
